


Hell's Mercy (Just Our Little Joke)

by MagnetoTheMagnificent



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Flaming Sword (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Hates the 14th Century (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Death is tired and wants a break, Emotional Hurt, Flashbacks, Freddy Mercury, Garden of Eden, Hell, Hell Is Awful, Holy Water, Hurt Crowley, Jewish Mythology, Jim Hutton - Freeform, Memories, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Reanimation, Sadism, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Temporary Character Death, Torture, Tree of Life, Violence, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 16,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26398663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagnetoTheMagnificent/pseuds/MagnetoTheMagnificent
Summary: What if the bucket of holy water missed Ligur, and Hastur and Ligur were able to capture Crowley?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for violence, suffocation...

_"Crawlee . . .?" called a guttural voice. Hastur._

_"He's through there," hissed another voice. "I can feel the slimy little creep." Ligur._

_Hastur and Ligur._

_Now, as Crowley would be the first to protest, most demons weren't deep down evil. In the great cosmic game they felt they occupied the same position as tax inspectors-doing an unpopular job, maybe, but essential to the overall operation of the whole thing. If it came to that, some angels weren't paragons of virtue; Crowley had met one or two who, when it came to righteously smiting the ungodly, smote a good deal harder than was strictly necessary. On the whole, everyone had a job to do, and just did it._

_And on the other hand, you got people like Ligur and Hastur, who took such a dark delight in unpleasantness you might even have mistaken them for human._

_Crowley leaned back in his executive chair. He forced himself to relax and failed appallingly._

_"In here, people," he called._

_"We want a word with you," said Ligur (in a tone of voice intended to imply that "word" was synonymous with "horrifically painful eternity"), and the squat demon pushed open the office door._

Before the demons could cross over the threshold, however, the bucket teetered over the edge and fell, splashing its contents right in front of the pair. Hastur and Ligur jumped back, avoiding the corrosive liquid completely. The water trickled across his floor, its rivulets stopping harmlessly at the demons’ feet.

“No,” Crowley breathed, pushing back into his chair. 

It was over, he had failed. Maybe he should have run when he the chance. 

The dukes of hell recovered from the shock of nearly being disintegrated, and glared at the smaller, lower demon. 

“Holy water?!” Hastur exclaimed, stepping over the clear puddle. 

“You clever bastard,” Ligur sneered, following his companion and approaching Crowley menacingly. 

In a desperate last ditch effort, Crowley held out his misting bottle in front of him like a weapon. 

“I have more,” he warned, letting the water inside slosh around threateningly. 

“Go away”

Hastur narrowed his ebony eyes, and smirked, licking his sharp teeth expectantly.  
The bottle exploded, spilling water all over Crowley’s desk and suit. He frowned. 

“Not clever enough,” Ligur goaded, and Crowley’s heart sank. 

The telephone rang, and Crowley glanced at the ansaphone, wondering who was calling. When he took his eyes off the two demons, Ligur clocked him on the back of his head, knocking him off his feet. Crowley’s tongue flicked out instinctively as he struggled to get off his sprawled position. 

“Oh, Crawley, don’t you know to never turn your back on a demon?” Hastur taunted as he dug his heel into Crowley’s back. 

“You’ve fucked up big time, snake,” he said darkly, wrenching the fallen angel’s arms behind his back. 

There was a cracking sound as Crowley felt his arms dislocate from the force of Hastur’s grip. Who was he kidding? There was no way he could get out of this one. He was hopeless. 

Crowley bit down hard, clenching his teeth to prevent him from screaming. It hurt, Hastur knew how to hurt, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

“What are you planning to do, then? Ssssstring me up? Waterboard me? I invented the Inquisssssition, Hassstur, you can’t sssurprisssse me,” Crowley hissed, masking his terror with confidence. 

“Can’t we? I’m sure you’ll see that Hell is far more creative than you give us credit for, traitor,” Hastur chuckled, pressing down on Crowley’s neck. 

Of course Crowley didn’t need to breathe, he wasn’t a human, but his corporal form had gotten used to a few things, the need for oxygen being one of them. Besides, he was far too terrified to remember which corporation he was in, or how to remind himself that he didn’t need air. Spots danced in front of his eyes, as the pain and darkness constricted on his consciousness. The last thing he heard was the telephone ringing again, and then the darkness took him completely.


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley woke up to a sharp pain on his cheek, and when he saw Lord Dagon's face, he realized why. The Master of Torments had slapped him.

He struggled to bow before them, but when he tried to move, his body jerked back painfully. Classic, chaining up a demon. 

"You may as well give up trying to get free, Crawley," Dagon told him, grinning maliciously. 

Crowley slumped, but did his best to remain stoic.

"I promise, Lord Dagon, I had nothing to do with Megiddo, I-"

"Ah ah ah, Crawley. We're past your squabbling," Dagon dismissed, looking down at him with derision. 

"You were tasked with delivering the Antichrist eleven years ago, were you not?" they asked, settling in front of their desk, where stacks of decrees and orders littered the surface. 

Crowley nodded. 

"Yes, my Lord," he confirmed quietly.

"Then why, pray tell, did a human show up instead of the Great Devourer?" 

Crowley looked down. He didn't exactly have a good answer, and he wasn't going to rat out on the nuns, as chattery and obnoxious as they were. 

"Must have been one bloody cock up," he mumbled. 

"Oh, it's definitely going to be bloody," Dagon cackled, "for you at least."

He tried to hide his trembling. There was no escaping now, he was a goner. Dead meat, fodder, scum to be kicked off the bottom of one's boot. 

"But I've done nothing wrong," he tried protesting. 

Dagon tossed their head back and laughed evilly. 

"That's the issue, Crawley," they said lowly, "you've done _nothing_ wrong." 

Crowley's last glimmer of hope, which he still had despite his circumstances, now faded at Dagon's words. If Dagon knew that all his greatest deeds, the Inquisition, the World Wars, the Cold War were all the result of humanity's darkest aspects, and not his demonic work at all- he was in for it. And while it was untrue that he did nothing wrong- there were a great many evils he was actually responsible for- he certainly wasn't the merciless agent of darkness he made himself out to be. If his facade of unrestrained malice was discovered, which it now seemed it was, there was no way he would stand a chance against all the wraths of Hell. 

"'Course I've done wrong, my Lord," he attempted.

"I'm a demon, after all."

Dagon shook their head, and picked up a stack of papers. Crowley could read the writing, but he knew what it meant. He had been audited. 

"As Lord of the Files I keep track of every demon's activity, and let's just say there are a few…..inconsistencies in regards to what you claim you've done," Dagon informed him. 

"Ngh"

"Normally we'd just off you now," they continued, "but word is coming in from the surface that Armageddon is still commencing, so we're a bit preoccupied with that at the moment. You'll forgive us if the inevitable is prolonged for just a bit."

They smirked.

"Not that we'd ever expect any forgiveness to be happening around here."

Crowley pointedly avoided meeting their gaze. He was thinking about the war, and Armageddon, and damn it all, he was thinking about Aziraphale. He wondered bitterly if the angel would get on with the plan without him. He wasn't sure if he hoped Aziraphale would come looking for him, or if he had any hope left to spare. 

He barely registered when two guard demons hauled him to his feet. They dragged him out of Dagon's office, and led him through the damp halls to the dungeons. Other demons sneered at him as he passed them, some spitting at his feet, others taking jabs at him with the various sharp weapons they were carrying. They were on the brink of war, after all. 

By the time he was shoved into his dark cell, his suit had been ruined, and his now quite scaly skin was spattered with filth and blood. Another drop of spittle landed on his face as the guard spat on him one last time before slamming the heavy door. 

With the door closed, Crowley was left in complete darkness. He didn't even bother wiping the grime off his face, and simply collapsed onto the floor in despair. His grip on his human corporation was fading, leaving him a desolate amalgam of a serpent and a man.


	3. Chapter 3

_“It would really be nice if my friend were here_ ," Aziraphale muttered. 

"I don't suppose your friend would be able to get us out of this," Tracy replied.

"Look, I don't know what trick you're playing," Sergeant Diesenburger said stiffly.

" _Oh, for_ -" Aziraphale sighed, and the American vanished. 

"Where did you send him?" Tracy asked in alarm. 

" _I do hope nowhere awful_ \- You don't know??!!" 

_"It's not like this is something I do often. But really, Madame, we have more important things to deal with_ ," Aziraphale responded in exasperation. 

"You do have a plan, don't you?"

" _Of course I have a plan, I'm an angel, I always have a plan,_ " he said primly, " _there's just someone else who should be here_ ."

"Another angel?"

" _A demon, actually. But nevermind. I'm sure he'll turn up eventually. He was probably caught up in that traffic on the M-25. Hopefully._ "

"Well, we'd best get a move on then. Come now, Shadwell," Tracy commanded, taking control. 

She marched up to an empty Jeep, and Shadwell gaped at her. 

"You're stealing? I knew you were trouble, Jezebel, but I didn't know-"

"Oh, please, Shadwell, do you really expect there to be a moral dilemma when it comes to the American military?" 

" _I must agree on this one, good sir,_ " Aziraphale added as they climbed into the vehicle. 

~~

Even without Crowley, the Apocalypse did not happen. Now separated from Madame Tracy, Aziraphale glanced around, almost expecting his friend to turn up. He did not. 

The angel looked from the Metatron to Beelzebub, who had turned up in a last desperate attempt to sway Adam. The poor boy was exhausted. 

For a moment Aziraphale feared it would be over, that the Antichrist would give in to the forces of destiny. 

"If I may," he interjected, "are you quite sure that this is the Ineffable Plan?" 

The Metatron and Beelzebub looked at the angel blankly. 

“You again,” the Metatron sighed with annoyance. 

“Yes, hello,” Aziraphale smiled politely. 

“It zeemz we boze have our renigadez,” Beelzebub remarked to the Metatron 

“Pardon?”

“Juzt a zlimy traitor we muzt deal with when thiz iz over,” the prince grumbled. 

Aziraphale felt he knew who he was referring to, and tried to push down his worry. Surely Hell had other renegade demons. 

“Err, about the plan-”

“Yes, what is it?” the Metatron clipped. 

“I want to be sure you’re certain that this is what the Almighty really intends. Perhaps this is all a test," 

"Ridiculouz. The plan haz been written," 

"Yes, but perhaps it's like a riddle. Like one of those adventure film Cro-" he stopped himself, "the humans like so much."

"Are you saying that the War was never supposed to happen?"

Aziraphale nodded. 

"Yes. If God's Will is Ineffable, there is no way you know His true plan better than I do, or anyone else," he explained, his confidence growing.

"Preposterous. _I_ am the Voice of God. _You're_ just a Principality," the Metatron exclaimed, but his certainty was wavering. 

"And yet we are all equal under God, are we not? It seems you have quite the paradox there," the Principality quipped. 

"There are differenzes," Beelzebub growled. 

"I'm a demon, thou are angels, he's the Antichrist," he hissed, gesturing to Adam. 

"We are **not** the zame." 

Adam looked up. 

"I don't see why it matters," he said simply. 

"Why does it matter if you're angels or demons or human? Don't we all deserve to live?" 

Deep beneath the ground, in a dark, damp cell, a lonely demon felt something change in the cosmic order of things. 

"He's human," Aziraphale murmured on the surface. 

The Metatron composed himself, and turned to Adam. 

"I think I must seek further instructions," he said professionally. 

"I do not know what thy Father will say about thiz," Beezlebub added. 

They both disappeared, leaving a bewildered angel and a resolute Antichrist to look at eachother. 

"Is it over?" Aziraphale asked.

"Not for you two. I know all about you two," he answered cryptically.

"Us two?" 

"You and your demon. He was supposed to be here, wasn't he?"

"Demon?!" Shadwell exclaimed, and the Them looked at each other uneasily. 

"Don't worry. He's not like Beelzebub. He's really rather a good person, deep down," Adam assured them, then glanced at Aziraphale. 

"Where is he?" the angel asked quietly. 

"I think you know where he is," Adam said softly. 

Panic rose in Aziraphale's chest. 

"Aren't you going to do anything?" 

Adam shrugged. 

"I'm not interfering more. I've got to go home now, anyway."

"But you can't-" 

"There's only so much I can do. I'm sure you'll figure it out." 

Adam and the Them left on their bicycles, and the other humans eventually followed in the Jeep. 

Silence swept across the airfield, and Aziraphale shuddered.   
He looked down, and saw his sword at his feet. 

"I suppose I'll be needing this now," he said to himself, picking it up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for blood, strangulation, violence.....

"Bring in the prisoner," Satan, the King of Hell, boomed, his jagged voice echoing across the Chambers. 

Crowley struggled to walk as the guards led him inside the devil's court, and deposited him at the base of Satan's throne. The meek demon raised his head painfully, his eyes silently pleading with the Dark Lord. 

"It's been a while since I've seen you in person, Crawley," Satan remarked, his grotesque face twisted in a smirk. 

"When was it?" he mused, "oh yes, I remember. Eden."

Nervous laughter rippled across the Dark Council.

"You know, I had plans for you. Thought you'd be worth something. The only demon brave enough to breach the surface, and engage with the first humans. I almost had faith in you."

Crowley hung his head in resignation. 

"You see, Crawley, here in Hell we have a certain order to things. An order you've somehow managed to disobey for six thousand years. I'd congratulate you if I wasn't so furious," Satan continued, rising from his throne and towering over him. 

"What makes you think you're so special?!" he snarled, his majestic wings unfolding to cast an ominous shadow over the prisoner. 

"I'm not ssssspecial, m'lord," Crowley croaked. 

"Really? Then why did you think you could get away with this? Why did you think you were any different? YOU ARE DAMNED!" the devil shouted, and his anger he lifted Crowley up by his neck. 

"Please-" Crowley gasped, clawing at Satan's hand. 

"Oh, don't worry, little snake," Satan chuckled, tightening his grip. 

"I'm not going to kill you. That would be too merciful." 

He released his hold, and Crowley fell to the ground, hitting the hard floor at an awkward angle. The other demons assembled in the room hooted as blood bloomed from where he had fallen on a shard. Crowley had never felt more alone. His neck throbbed, his whole body hurt.

"Aren't you going to ask what we're going to do?" Satan asked derisively, stepping on Crowley's hand when he tried to rub his neck. 

"What- what are you going to do?" Crowley forced himself to ask, tasting iron. 

"Glad you azzzked," Beezlebub grinned, rising from his seat. 

His voice was like sharp daggers in Crowley's ears. 

"Have you heard of the Abyzzz?" 

~~

Aziraphale glanced around Crowley's flat. He did not like the fact that there was a puddle of holy water in Crowley's office, but at least he could see that no demon had been affected by it. There were signs of a struggle everywhere, from the overturned chair to Crowley's cracked sunglasses on the floor. The whole room reeked of demonic activity. Worse still, the Bentley was still parked outside, which meant there was no way Crowley had managed to escape. He would never leave his beloved Bentley. 

Wearily, the angel trudged into his bookshop, which he could tell was slightly different than when he left it. There were new books, likely materialized by Adam. He didn't have time to dwell on that matter. 

Over the years, Aziraphale had amassed quite the collection of satanic literature. 'It's important to know one's enemy,' he had explained when his boss, Gabriel, had questioned him on his less-than-heavenly books. Really, Aziraphale kept these books to ensure they wouldn't fall into human hands, because he knew the sort of things humans would do if they knew how to, say, train a Hellhound. The books didn't come into use that often, but now they finally served a purpose. 

He propped the most informative books on his research wheel, which could hold up to eight books at once so he could rotate between them. It wasn't as simple as summoning Crowley. Surely Hell had measurements in place to prevent that. Besides, from what Crowley had told him, being summoned wasn't like just being beamed up like in Star Trek. It was painful, and it rendered the summoned completely under the control of the summoner. He had no desire to submit his friend to that. No, he would have to simply march into Hell himself. All he had to do now was figure out how to do that. 

After researching all night, he finally found his answer. Unfortunately, he could only open a gate to Hell under a blood moon. Satanic rituals were complicated like that. When he checked his lunar charts, he realized in dismay that the next blood moon was due in almost two years. 

"Oh dear," he sighed, his eyes stinging with tears. 

He ran his finger along the blade of his sword. Perhaps time worked differently in Hell, he tried reasoning. He tried to assure himself that Crowley would be alright, but was failing miserably.

"Please, hold on for me, my dear," he prayed desperately. 

It was absurd, praying to a demon, but he had nothing else left to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for blood, mentions of beheading, violence.....

Crowley held his head up stiffly, glaring at all the legions of Hell that had gathered to watch his punishment. The best he could do was silent resistance, and hope the end would come quickly.

He looked ahead, and could see what looked like an executioner's platform. He had seen a great deal of those, especially in the Tudor era. As an optimist, he tried looking on the bright side. At least it would be quick- since it appeared they would be beheading him. He still didn't know what the Abyss was that Beelzebub was talking about. 

"I've been looking forward to this, Crawley," Hastur said as he was led up to the platform. 

Crowley bared his fangs at him, a low hiss rising from his throat. 

"Creep," Ligur sneered, and kicked him in the shins, causing him to trip over the stairs and fall forward. 

The audience of demons roared with laughter. 

"Crawling on his belly, the sissy bastard," Crowley heard someone remark, and soon the entire crowd joined in chanting: 'Crawley, Crawley!' 

It was humiliating, and he just wished they would kill him ready. 

"On your feet," the guard growled, yanking him up by his hair. 

His scalp burned, and blood spilled down his forehead, blurring his vision. 

The guard shoved his head into the block, Crowley's skull reverberated with the impact. The crowd grew nearer, their chants turning into a hellish chorus, taunting, laughing, licking their lips in anticipation. 

"I've been looking forward to this," Dagon whispered, showing Crowley their rusty axe. 

Despite himself, Crowley felt sick. It was going to hurt, and wouldn't be as quick as the fancy French sword used on Anne Boleyn. 

'Just get it over with,' he pleaded internally. 

"Wings out," Dagon ordered, pulling on Crowley's jacket collar. 

"Why?" Crowley asked in alarm. 

"We can't have you trying to fly out, now can we?" the Master of Torments chuckled, and the crowd tittered.

"Out?"

"Of the Abyss. You'll be falling forever, Crawley, everything stripped away until you're nothing but a spark, a dying ember of your former self," Dagon told him gleefully. 

Crowley nearly choked. He never expected them to be that creative. 

"But I can't fly. My wings were damaged in the Fall," he tried arguing. 

"Pity," Dagon snorted.

"Nevertheless we can't risk them being functional again by some …. miracle," they said darkly. 

"Please. I'm sorry, I'll do anything, Lord Dagon, I'll make it up to you, I'll be the best demon-" 

"Silenz!" Beelzebub shouted. 

"I've had juzt about enough of your inzolenze, Crawzley," he sneered, marching up the scaffolds. 

"Give me that," he hissed, snatching the hatchet from Dagon.   
Before Crowley could protest, Beezlebub pulled his wings out from the celestial plane, gripped them in his talons, and brought the hatchet down. 

Crowley screamed a guttural cry of agony as Beelzebub hacked away at the base of his wings. The axe was dull, and Beezlebub had to saw away savagely at his bone. Blood soaked the back of Crowley's jacket, and mangled feathers floated erratically around him as the Prince of Hell mutilated him. Tears flowed freely now, only encouraging the bloodthirsty crowd. 

Their chants grew louder and louder, crowding his ears and suffocating his senses. It was too much. He wished Beelzebub would just end it already. And then, out of the horde, a voice pierced the storm: 

" _Please, hold on for me, my dear,"_

"Aziraphale!" Crowley cried, thrashing out. 

He craned his head to see where the angel's voice was coming from. 

"Aziraphale, where are you?!" 

"Ztop your babbling, you dizappointing excuze for a demon!" Beelzebub snapped, holding Crowley's head down as the last piece of his wings clattered to the floor. 

Crowley sobbed as scales rippled across his face.

"Some demon you turned out to be," Dagon muttered hatefully. 

They pulled him up, and the crowd cheered. It was then that Crowley noticed the dark pit by the scaffolds. It seemed to go on forever, with no end. This must be the Abyss. 

"Toss 'im in!" someone in the crowd shouted. 

Beelzebub grinned. 

"Can't say no to the audience," Dagon remarked. 

"Of courze," the prince of Hell agreed. 

"Juzt one more meazure to enzure thiz worm never ezcapes."

A sharp pain seared through Crowley's body as Beelzebub pushed his sword in through the base of his former wings and out through his chest. Crowley gasped, his serpentine eyes bulging as Beezlebub drew his sword back out. 

"Happy falling," Dagon smirked, as Beezlebub kicked the smaller demon off the platform. 

He tumbled into the Abyss, and fell, down, down, down.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mention of the bubonic plague

Crowley was falling, endlessly falling. The darkness seemed both constricting and intangible. Pain coursed through his body from his wounds, and his head swam with memories that the Abyss drew out. He was drifting away, his past emerging in painful tendrils. 

_He was lounging with Aziraphale, after having decided on raising the newborn Antichrist. They were far past drunk, having been drinking solidly for quite some time._

_"What do you reckon you'll do if it does happen?" the angel asked._

_Crowley hiccuped._

_"If- if what happens?"_

_"The war, obviously. What are you going to do?"_

_Crowley paled, then shrugged to hide his fear._

_"Dunno. Why, d'you know what you'll do?"_

_Aziraphale sighed, and glanced down at his glass, which was regrettably empty._

_"I suppose I'll be called up to fight. Wasn't given a flaming sword for nothing," he replied sadly._

_"But you lost your sword," Crowley reminded him._

_"They don't know that. Although I suppose none of it will matter, in the end, that is."_

_The demon grimaced._

_"I don't want to fight," he admitted, "do you?"_

_Aziraphale shook his head._

_"I can't imagine having to fight you. You don't think it'll come to that, do you?"_

_"If we do this right, Aziraphale, it won't. There won't be a war," Crowley assured him._

As soon as the memory resurfaced, it was gone, lost in the Abyss. 

_"You have to be careful, Aziraphale!" Crowley shouted one cold London night._

_Aziraphale glared at him, and straightened his ascot angrily._

_"You didn't have to help me, you know," he huffed._

_"Of course, angel, I should have just left you to the Coppers. Have a fun time explaining how an angel of the Lord wound up in prison to head office," the demon hissed._

_"As if you're not being reckless yourself, swinging with Freddy Whats-his-name, hopping from pub to club to party, shooting up who knows what," Aziraphale retorted, crossing his arms._

_"I'm a demon, for someone's sake! You're an angel, Aziraphale. You can't show up to every protest and riot and expect not to be caught. I thought your lot were the peaceful ones," Crowley exclaimed in frustration._

_"My lot, my dear, do not necessarily have to be peaceful to ensure the prevalence of good," Aziraphale corrected him, strutting out his chin importantly._

_Crowley sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose._

_"I'm proud of you, angel," he finally admitted quietly._

_"I know you are, my dear," Aziraphale smiled, taking Crowley's hand._

_"Gabriel and the other featherfucks have nothing on you, Aziraphale," Crowley said earnestly._

_"You still have to take me to one of those parties, dear boy," Aziraphale reminded him coyly._

_"Ngk. You wouldn't like it. You'd stick out like a sore thumb."_

_"Because I'm too old-fashioned or because I'm too ravishing?" Aziraphale teased._

_"Oh, I wouldn't worry about being too old-fashioned, angel. Everyone has a type," Crowley chuckled._

_"So you're just afraid I'll be snatched up and leave you in the dust?"_

_"That's not what I- where did you learn to speak like that?" Crowley stammered, now thoroughly embarrassed._

_"I'm an angel of the world, my dear Crowley. I'm not a prude."_

Another memory dissolved into nothingness. 

_"My dear, whatever is the matter?" Aziraphale asked the scowling demon._

_"Next time you skip off to Asia on holiday for a century, you take me with you, you insufferable bastard," Crowley growled, baring his fangs._

_"I lost track of time. It couldn't have been that bad…."_

_"I was discorporated, for someone's sake, Aziraphale! Tossed onto a bloody funeral pyre! And before that I had to witnessssss the plague wipe out nearly all of Europe. Meanwhile, you were off traversing every other continent, marveling in all the wonders of the world," he shouted._

_"I'm sorry, Crowley, I didn't know-"_

_"Didn't know my arse. Some Arrangement this turned out to be," Crowley grumbled, his eyes boring holes into Aziraphale._

_Aziraphale slumped._

_"So flagellate me. Lock me up in stocks, if you have to. Whatever it takes to let you know that I truly am sorry," he said repentantly._

_"You owe me, Aziraphale," Crowley told him._

_"I know."_

_"All the humans- you have no idea, Aziraphale. It was horrible. I couldn't help them. Corpses in the streets-"_

_He stopped, and looked away, not wanting to give away any emotion._

_"Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, moving closer._

_"It didn't discriminate, Aziraphale. Young and old, good and evil. The smell, Aziraphale. Death everywhere," Crowley finally sobbed._

_Aziraphale wrapped his arms around him, holding him close._

_"I should have been there for you, my dear. I'm so terribly sorry," he whispered, stroking the demon's back._

_"Couldn't get clean, dirt and fleas everywhere," Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale's chest._

_"Ssshhh. It's over now, my dear. I have you," Aziraphale soothed._

_"And then they started fighting each other, everyone suspicious of the other. I love the humans, Aziraphale, but there was nothing I could do."_

_"I know. You shouldn't have had to endure all of that."_

_Crowley sniffled, and squeezed Aziraphale tighter._

_"You better have gotten me something, at least," he finally said when he had calmed down._

_Aziraphale broke into a smile._

_"I did, actually. I found this wonderful contraption. They're lenses made of smoked quartz that you wear in front of your eyes. I know you're sensitive to the sun, and you're always hiding those beautiful eyes of yours. At least you'd be able to have something stylish," he told him, extracting the glasses from his bag._

_Crowley took them gingerly, holding them up to his face and inspecting them._

_"Fascinating," he commented, flicking his tongue curiously._

_Aziraphale suppressed a giggle._

_"You put them on your face, over your nose, like so," he instructed, placing them gently over his eyes, and tucking the bars behind his ears._

_"There."_

_"Woah," Crowley breathed in amazement._

_"Do you like them?"_

_"Aziraphale, they're brilliant! Everything is so much dimmer, and it blocks the light perfectly," Crowley replied excitedly._

_Aziraphale preened happily._

_"You can't see my eyes, can you?" the demon asked._

_Aziraphale shook his head._

_"Unfortunately, no, I can't see your exquisite eyes."_

_"Perfect. Thank you much, Aziraphale."_

Like the others, the memory turned to dust, and Crowley faded further.  
Memory after memory was pulled away, everything that made Crowley the demon, no, the person he had become. His physical body was also diminishing, not just his human corporation, but even his celestial form. Soon he would be just a small, insignificant spark. 

_"Almighty, I have a question," Penemue said reverently, clutching his quill._

_"SPEAK THEN, MY SCRIBE"_

_"I've been noting down what's to come, and, well, it seems you are going to put these... humans…..and their world itself, through quite a lot of hardship."_

_"YES. THEY WILL BE TESTED MANY TIMES, PENEMUE"_

_Penemue hesitated, then continued._

_"Yes, but, Almighty, is it really necessary? What's the point of creating them if you know they will disobey?"_

_"SUCH IS MY WILL, PENEMUE. SUCH IS WHAT WILL BE"_

_Frustration boiled within the angel._

_"But it isn't fair! Why create people just to make them suffer? They're not just toys, Almighty, they'll be living, breathing people, with hopes and dreams and pain! Why would you do that? You already know what will happen, so why give them the illusion of choice?!"_

_"ARE YOU QUESTIONING ME, PENEMUE?"_

_"Maybe I am," Penemue said resolutely._

_"You can't expect me to write all these chronicles and not become attached. Like Job, for example. You're planning on taking everything from him, Almighty, and for what? To prove his faith?! Why do You need constant validation?! You're God! Why torment Your people to validate Yourself?! Are You so insecure in Your Power that You need to put others down?!"_

_There was a long silence before the Almighty spoke again._

_"YOU HAVE INCENSED ME, PENEMUE, AND FOR YOUR INSOLENCE YOU SHALL BE PUNISHED"_

_"You can't punish me," Penemue retorted, his confidence building._

_"I've written all that there is to come, and it says nothing about my being punished. You can't go against Your Own prophecy."_

_The Almighty was silent, and for a moment Penemue thought he had won. Then, he felt a strange tingly feeling on his ethereal skin. He looked down, and saw scales forming on his metaphysical feet. For a brief second he looked up desperately, then slipped down the metaphysical polished marble staircase, tumbling down painfully into the sulfur pools of Hell._

As his final memory was extinguished, Crowley, Penemue, every name he had once taken was reduced to a faint ember, a tiny light against the darkness. He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't clear, Penemue is Crowley before he Fell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for mention of famine and minor (historical) character death.

Aziraphale screamed in frustration and fear. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" he shouted, cursing himself and kicking papers around his already cluttered study. 

Books and manuscripts were littered across the floor, along with empty bottles of liquor. 

"I'll never get him back," he said, quieter now and drained of all hope. 

"I don't even know if he's alive anymore."

A tear rolled down his cheek. It had been almost a year since the Apocalypse, and since he lost Crowley. He was beginning to think he'd never see his oldest friend again. It was November, and the air was getting cooler. If Crowley were around, he'd be getting grumpier at this point, and far more cuddly. They'd both sit by the fire, Crowley moodily sipping hot cider, insisting that he was fine. Aziraphale sighed. It wasn't as if he and Crowley hadn't gone years, even decades and centuries without seeing each other. After all, for the past six thousand years or so, they did have their respective duties to attend to. But Aziraphale knew where Crowley was, and he knew it wasn't anywhere good. It wasn't simply a matter of discorperation. They could destroy Crowley completely. 

His telephone rang, and he reluctantly answered it, not wanting it to continue ringing. 

"Hello?" he said without a hint of his usual terse greeting. 

"Is this A. Z. Fell's?" 

Aziraphale frowned. 

"I'm afraid we're closed," he grimaced, not having the energy to argue with another customer. 

"Oh no. I'm not a customer. I'm a friend of Anthony Crowley," the man on the other end told him. 

Aziraphale's eyes stung, but he remained composed. 

"Yes?" he said weakly. 

"I've been trying to call him, but all of my calls have gone unanswered," the man continued. 

"Um, yes. I- I must have forgotten to disconnect his phone line. He's…." 

Aziraphale searched for the right word to explain to this human. 

"I'm terribly sorry, sir," he finally said, "he's gone." 

A sob was threatening to escape his throat, and he bit his fist. 

"I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Since when?"

Aziraphale blinked back tears. 

"About a year ago," he answered shakily. 

"Oh, I am so sorry, Mr. Fell."

"It's- it's quite alright," Aziraphale sniffed. 

"What is it you were calling about, anyway?" 

"Well, I'm sure Anthony has told you about me, or at least my…. husband. I'm Jim Hutton. I wanted to call Anthony to inform him of Freddy's passing, before he finds out from the media," the man replied. 

Aziraphale clasped a hand to his mouth. 

"How insensitive of me. My condolences, Mr. Hutton. I know he was a great man. I feel terrible now, going on about losing Crowley when you've just lost your partner," he apologized. 

"There's no need to apologise, Mr. Fell," Jim said softly. 

"Freddy's told me all about you, from what Anthony's told him. You two seemed very close. If you want to, we can meet up, if you need someone to talk to."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Hutton, but I'm afraid I'm far too busy. You're very kind."

After they bid each other goodbye, Aziraphale hung up and made a note to send flowers. He knew Crowley would be devastated if- when he found out. There was too much death in the air, and the winter chill that had made him melancholic now made him outright depressed. He needed a change, and he needed to be sure. He needed to know. 

~~~~

Aziraphale laid a quick blessing on a young girl, the only survivor of the famine that killed her entire family. He then turned to the dark figure, who was towering over the girl's mother, who had just breathed her last breath. 

"I thought I'd find you here," Aziraphale murmured. 

"AZIRAPHALE, GUARDIAN OF THE EASTERN GATE. IT IS A STRANGE SIGHT TO SEE YOU HERE," Death greeted him. 

"Hello," Aziraphale said coldly. 

"YOU HAVEN'T COME TO TRY AND THWART ME, HAVE YOU, PRINCIPALITY?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. 

"All in the course of humanity, I'm afraid, as dreadful as it is," he admitted. 

"THEN WHY HAVE YOU COME HERE?" Death demanded. 

"I have come to ask you a question. A favour, perhaps," Aziraphale responded stiffly.

"AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WOULD DO SUCH A THING?"

"Because I've stopped you before, Azrael, and I'll gladly do it again," Aziraphale warned, moving his right hand from behind his back to reveal his sword. 

A sound that may have been laughter escaped from Death's throat. 

"THE PART YOU PLAYED IN THE INEFFABLE PLAN IS BUT MINISCULE. I DO NOT FEAR YOU, PRINCIPALITY," Death informed him. 

"Then I ask you humbly," Aziraphale said quietly. 

"YOU MAY ASK, BUT I CANNOT GUARANTEE THAT I WILL ANSWER," Death replied. 

Aziraphale took a steadying breath. 

"Is the demon Crowley alive?" he finally asked, bracing himself for whatever Death may answer. 

There was a long silence before Death gave its answer. 

"I CANNOT ANSWER IF HE IS ALIVE, BUT HE IS NOT DEAD."

Relief and confusion flooded Aziraphale's senses. 

"What does that mean?" he asked anxiously. 

"IT MEANS WHAT IT MEANS, PRINCIPALITY. HE EXISTS, BUT IN A STATE OF IMBALANCE," Death explained, not really explaining much. 

"You don't know anything else?!" Aziraphale cried desperately. 

"I AM NOT A BEING OF HELL, PRINCIPALITY. DEATH IS NOT OCCULT. I AM A BEING OF HEAVEN, LIKE YOU, PRINCIPALITY. JUST AS YOU CANNOT ENTER HELL, NEITHER CAN I." 

"But there must be something-"

"ONLY THE FALLEN AND DAMNED CAN ENTER HELL, AND I AM NEITHER FALLEN NOR DAMNED."

Aziraphale tightened his grip on his sword. 

"I AM SORRY, PRINCIPALITY, BUT I MUST GO. DEATH'S WORK IS NEVER OVER."

With a flap of his wings, Death was gone. Aziraphale looked around the death-stricken hut, and sobbed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for eyes. Lots of eyes.

Aziraphale mentally prepared himself in front of the gilded gates of Heaven. 

"Steady yourself, old boy," he mumbled to himself, smoothing his overcoat. 

He adjusted his angelic badge, giving it one final polish before pushing open the two large doors. 

As usual, Heaven was eerily silent. Even when there were other Angels around, the Heavenly Host kept a reverent, sacred silence, only speaking unless absolutely necessary. It was as still as a mausoleum, as hallowed as a monastery. Aziraphale strode carefully through the halls, uneasiness churning in his gut. The motif of ethereal eyes on the walls seemed to stare into his very essence.

When he finally reached his former boss's office, he took a deep breath. He knocked on the door carefully. 

"Come in," came Gabriel's voice from inside. 

Aziraphale walked in, holding his hands behind his back. He waited respectfully until Gabriel spoke to him. 

"Aziraphale? What brings _you_ here?" the Archangel asked in surprise. 

"I thought you sent in your resignation after the whole…. debacle."

The higher angel did not look pleased, and Aziraphale was nervous. 

"Yes, well, I had a bit of a question, Esteemed Archangel," Aziraphale began, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet. 

"Procede," Gabriel said with clear disinterest. 

"If, hypothetically, an angel wanted to- to, say, visit Hell, how would- how would such an angel accomplish that?" 

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale just then noticed the wall of weapons behind him. 

"You know that's not possible, Aziraphale," he sighed, shaking his head. 

"Yes, but what if it were?" 

"It's not, Aziraphale, unless you count that absurd human ritual with the moon, which, may I remind you, has never been done successfully," Gabriel replied frankly. 

"There's no other way?"

"Not unless you Fall, which hasn't happened since the Nephilim days."

Aziraphale twisted his hands behind his back, hoping his former boss couldn't see his fear. 

Gabriel inhaled impatiently. 

"Is that all?" 

Aziraphale nodded slowly. 

"Then I suggest you leave, Aziraphale. You've done enough to stir up trouble as it is, I'd hate to see the chaos that would ensue if another angel saw your face," Gabriel said with a cold calmness.

"Yes, of course sir," Aziraphale responded quietly, turning to the door. 

His hand hovered over the ornate door handle. 

"When is the last time God has spoken?" he asked softly, not looking at the Archangel. 

Gabriel drew in a tense breath. 

"Not in thousands of years."

Aziraphale nodded at Gabriel's response. 

"Right," he choked out. 

He opened the door with a trembling hand, and walked out into the corridor. 

If the halls of Heaven seemed unwelcoming before, they now reeked with a feeling of hostility. The eyes whose gazes once seemed judgemental now glared with accusation. In the distance, the Heavenly choir began their crescendo, but their song was twisted in Aziraphale's ears. "UNHOLY, UNHOLY, UNHOLY," they sang, shaming the Principality who couldn't even protect a demon. 

When he returned to Earth, he aimlessly wandered to Crowley's flat, unsure what compelled his feet to take him there. The demon's prized plants were all dead and dry, collapsed skeletons in their fragile pots. His collection of soul music was still strewn across the floor, likely the work of the demons that took him. A large 007 poster was fading and peeling off his bedroom wall. The whole place screamed of Crowley, but not of a living, passionate Crowley. It was like a shadow, a hint of a memory. 

" **Fell me!** " Aziraphale shouted, gazing up at the ceiling. 

"Why won't You let me Fall. Let me Fall, God, please….let me Fall," he sobbed, his knees buckling beneath him. 

"I'm not welcome in Heaven, I can't enter Hell. _You_ let them take him from me!" 

He gathered his knees to his chest and bowed his head, letting the tears fall. 

"What is an angel without Heaven?" he whispered, staring ahead.

" _What is an angel without a demon?_ " 

Aziraphale curled in on himself, shaking with every sob. 

Crowley's whitewashed walls glared at him like monoliths, everything seeming to blame him. Somehow, somehow this was his fault. Because if it wasn't his fault, if it wasn't an accident of fate, that would mean that it was all predestined. That no matter what, Crowley would always be taken, would always be lost. That Crowley _deserved_ to be in agony.

"Haven't You hurt him enough?!" Aziraphale wailed, his face soaked with saltwater. 

"All he ever wanted was to protect Your people, protect Your world. He was a better demon, no, he would have been a better angel than all the circles of Heaven."

The angel blinked, an epiphany dawning. 

"You Felled him because You feared him. You were afraid he would overtake You. You wanted to quelch every single one of his flames so he'd never feel worthy enough to challenge You," he spoke, anger flaring in his marbled eyes. 

"What makes me holier than him?! What makes You holier than me?! It's all a sick, cruel, twisted game You're playing with the Universe, and with us." 

He swallowed, his eyes burning. His fists were clenched, as if he was expecting something. Nothing happened. The flat remained mournfully silent. Aziraphale looked around. The plants were still withered, the walls were still bare. The ground had not opened up beneath him. Nothing had changed. 

" **Why didn't You Fell me?!** " he screamed, tearing off his angelic badge. 

The golden badge of wings clattered to the floor. 

"I rebelled, I questioned, I did _everything_ he did, so why won't You Fell me?!"

His cries grew more wretched and furious as he yelled out into the void. 

" **Fell me!** "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banish the image of John Hamm from your mind when you read about Gabriel. For the book universe, I imagine Gabriel looking more like a very smug Mads Mikkelson.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for drinking, and mentions of sex. (No actual sex happens, and it's all consensual, but still. Sex is mentioned)

Aziraphale sat on his bed, refusing to look at the other man in his room. 

"Listen, Fell, do you want to do this or not?" the man asked impatiently, but not cruelly. 

Aziraphale sighed, fumbling with his shirt buttons. 

"It's not you, Eric-" 

"Erin"

"Right. I'm terribly sorry for your trouble, Erin," Aziraphale apologized, wringing his hands nervously. 

"You _are_ clean, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm clean," Aziraphale snapped, shaking his head in annoyance. 

Erin rolled his eyes. 

"You know, most people who hire me don't break down in tears before we even do anything," he remarked. 

Aziraphale glared at him. 

"I don't need your pity," he said bitterly. 

"I'm going to assume you need to get your mind off something," Erin tried. 

"You could say that," Aziraphale mumbled, looking down. 

"Boyfriend?" 

"More than that. I've known him- I've known him for forever," the angel replied shakily. 

"Must have been hard to lose him," Erin said gently. 

"Yes," Aziraphale managed to say. 

"I have to do this. It's the only way I'll get him back," he added, his voice devoid of emotion. 

"Sex?" 

"Fall. I have to Fall. It's the only way I'll get him back."

Erin looked at him oddly. 

"You're not some religious nut, are you?" 

"No. I don't mean in a metaphorical way. I mean really Fall. If I just put myself in as many risky situations as I can, maybe I will. It's the only way I'll ever see him again," Aziraphale explained somberly.

Erin exhaled slowly through his teeth, thinking he understood. 

"So you're being reckless in hopes it'll make you…..err, join him?" 

Aziraphale nodded, chewing on his lip. 

"Look, um, I'm not a shrink, but, well, I don't think that's going to get him back," Erin said awkwardly, trying to be helpful. 

"You don't know anything," Aziraphale said sadly. 

Erin sucked in his breath. It wasn't as if this was the first time he had a difficult client. 

"You're right, I don't. I'm just trying to get by like the rest of us," he stiffened. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"It's alright," Erin shrugged, "I'm sure you've been through Hell."

"You wouldn't believe it," Aziraphale murmured. 

The younger man tapped his fingers distractedly. There was a tense, lingering silence as both men- well, one man and one man-shaped-being, sat on opposite ends of Aziraphale's bed. 

"So, um, are we still going to have sex?" Erin finally asked. 

Aziraphale's cheeks burned. 

"Oh, well, I- I'm not quite sure I want to. I'll still pay you, of course," he stammered, clumsily buttoning up his shirt. 

He suddenly felt very vulnerable, not from his exposed chest, but from his emotions. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" Erin asked, touching Aziraphale's thigh.

Aziraphale flinched, and jumped back. 

"Don't touch me!" he shouted, standing up quickly and turning to the door. 

Erin's face wrinkled in confusion, slightly fearful.

Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath. 

"I'm sorry. This was- this was a bad idea. The money is on the table downstairs, you can let yourself out," he told him, holding the door open. 

Erin pulled his shirt back on, and stood up. He studied Aziraphale's face with concern, wondering what he could say. 

"Look, you're- you're a good person, Fell. You have a lot to live for."

Aziraphale looked away. 

"I'm sure that can be debated," he mumbled. 

Erin sighed. He had done his best.

"Have a good night, Fell."

"And you."

Aziraphale closed the door behind him, and leaned against the closed door. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't Fall," he sobbed, reaching for the nearest bottle. 

It was a cheap, foul tasting drink, but he didn't care. It wasn't supposed to make him happy. Drinking was only a pleasurable experience when he was with good company. Most of the time, good company was synonymous with Crowley. 

"My only chance of getting you back is with the Bloodmoon."

~~~~

The year passed, and Winter came again. The Christmas decor, which usually made Aziraphale just a little annoyed, made him downright miserable. He should be with Crowley, planning out their holiday season itinerary of blessings and temptations. One of them would likely shut down Heathrow, while the other would ensure at least one Panto would go off without a hitch. Crowley would probably continue his temptation tradition of Chanukah candles that won't light, or gaudy wax that would be impossible to clean off. And then Aziraphale would close his shop, and have a miraculously steaming mug of cocoa ready for Crowley when he inevitably came crashing inside, cursing all things cold and snowy. His heart ached for his friend. 

If everything went right, he'd see him. The next night was the night of the Eclipse, of the Bloodmoon. If everything went right, he would storm Hell with all the fury of an angelic warrior, and save Crowley. Everything would be just as it was. Crowley would be back, and they'd retire peacefully, never to be disturbed again. Everything had to go right, because he had no other plan in place. His sword laid on his desk, gleaming and ready for battle. In the glint of the blade he could see his tired eyes, and he knew: He didn't know what he'd do if he failed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for blood

The moon shone with an eerie rust-coloured glow over Devil's Dyke as a lone angel prepared his ritual. He had no idea what the ramifications of opening a gateway to Hell would do, so he laid a quick miracle to keep humans within a certain radius away. 

Aziraphale glanced at his pocket watch, and then looked back up at the sky. It was time. 

He took his sword in his right hand, braced himself, and cut a neat gash in his left arm. Blood spilled from the wound, and Aziraphale let it flow into a ceramic valice. Once his arm was bandaged, he poured the blood onto the frozen ground so that it made a crimson circle on the soil. The ground crackled from the heat of the blood hitting the ice. Finally, he took out a shard of glass and held it so that it concentrated the light of the Bloodmoon onto the circle. Aziraphale tilted his head so his breath wouldn't fog the glass.   
The lines of the circle glowed, and then the ground inside the lines turned to a deep pit. A rickety spiral staircase began at the mouth of the pit. The smell of sulphur wafted up from the pit, causing the angel to wrinkle his nose. There was no turning back now. Aziraphale took one last look at the Heavens, before descending into Hell. 

~~~

At the end of the long, winding staircase, Aziraphale found himself in a dark, chilly hallway. Mold and slime clung to the walls, and strange insects scuttled along the floor. Aziraphale wrapped his overcoat tighter around himself, feeling a general sense of discomfort. As he walked down the corridor, he tried to ignore the squishing sounds his shoes made with every step. No wonder Crowley kept his flat so immaculately clean. 

He spotted a demon coming his way, and when the demon passed him, Aziraphale lashed out at him, and slammed him into the wall. 

"Oi!" the demon sputtered. 

"What was that for?!" 

Aziraphale pushed him further into the wall, and unsheathed his sword. The demon's murky eyes bulged in fear. 

"A- an angel?!" he gasped. 

"Quite right," Aziraphale replied, letting his halo shine through just enough to make the demon tremble. 

"Your name and rank, now!" Aziraphale snarled. 

"A-alp, und I am merely an incubus-subordinate. Please don't hurt me," the demon pleaded.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. 

"Take me to Prince Beelzebub," he demanded, lowering the demon to the ground, but keeping a firm grip on his Lederhosen. 

"He won't be happy to see you," Alp protested meekly. 

"And I don't think you'd be happy to be on the sharp end of this sword," Aziraphale whispered threateningly in the demon's ear. 

"Alright, alright. Follow me," Alp squeaked. 

Aziraphale let go of the leather buckle, and Alp exhaled in relief. 

"If I even so much as suspect you are playing tricks on me, Alp, you'll find yourself skewered like a Spanferkel," Aziraphale warned, following closely behind the forest spirit. 

With Alp's back turned to him, Aziraphale relaxed his tense demeanor a bit. He could be as smiteful and imposing as any other angel, but he didn't like to. There was a reason he gave away his flaming sword almost the moment he was issued it, and it wasn't just because Eve was pregnant. He may have been trained to be a stone-cold soldier of Heaven, but at his heart, he wasn't a fighter. Part of the reason why he agreed to the Arrangement in the first place was because he didn't want to fight Crowley. 

"We're here," Alp told him, gesturing to a dark door adorned with bones. 

"This is his throne room?" 

Alp nodded slowly.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be going. I quite value my head, thank you very much," he said quickly. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. 

"Very well," he allowed.

The demon smiled at him, presumably grateful, although he wasn't very good at smiling. He scurried away, leaving Aziraphale alone in front of the imposing door.

The angel composed himself, clenching and unclenching his fists, before he kicked down the door.

Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies, and Prince of Hell was lounging in his throne. He was brooding in his particular brand of evil, planning the next big global catastrophe. The last thing he expected was a furious angel wielding a flaming sword to burst through his door. 

"Zatan!" he exclaimed, before composing himself and resuming his malicious sneer. 

Aziraphale pushed him to the ground, and towered over him. He pointed the tip of his blade less than a centimetre away from the prince's face. Beads of sweat rolled down Beelzebub's brow, and his stoic expression wavered. 

"Where is he?!" the angel growled, his eyes matching the intense magnesium-blue glow of his sword. 

“Who?” Beelzebub gulped. 

“Crowley. Where. Is. He?!” Aziraphale hissed, pushing his sword closer so that it was a milimetre away from the demon’s eyes. 

A rancid chuckle bubbled up from Beelzebub’s mouth, and he grinned widely. 

“I remember you,” he croaked hideously. 

“You’re that angel from the airbase.” 

Aziraphale glared at him. 

“Did you- oh, this is deliciouz,” Beelzebub cackled, “were you and that zlimy znake working together?!” 

Upon seeing the angel’s face contort in anger, the demon continued, his voice like a coarse buzz. 

“Thiz juzt keeps getting better and better. I thought you were juzt an incompetant angel, but oh, Zatan, you are so much worse. You were…..” he said the next word with disgust, “ _friends_ with that failure!” 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. 

“I’m not going to say this again, Beelzebub. Where is Crowley?!” he roared. 

Beelzebub erupted into peals of horrid laughter. 

“You’re not getting him back, you ztupid angel. He’s in the Abyzz, never to be zeen again. Oh, this is too hilarious!” 

“You bastard,” Aziraphale muttered in horror. 

He had read enough about Hell to know exactly what the Abyss was. He just couldn’t believe it actually existed- or that they’d actually dare go that far. 

“So what are you going to do? You’re far too cowardly to actually do anything about it,” Beelzebub cackled. 

Filled with rage, Aziraphale plunged his sword through Beelzebub’s chest. Dark, acidic blood dripped from the blade as he pulled it out, and scorch marks spread from where he had stabbed the dark prince. 

“You actually did it,” Beelzebub rasped unbelievingly as his skin turned ashen and burned. 

Aziraphale breathed heavily, holding his stained sword in front of him as the flames dwindled. The Prince of Hell turned to ash, as the angel looked his sword in awe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alp is an actual cryptid, a vampire-like forest spirit from Germanic folklore. He is known to suck animal blood, as well as cause minor grade mischief.


	11. Chapter 11

"What the bloody Heaven is going on here?!" Hastur exclaimed, having heard the commotion. 

Aziraphale turned, his eyes flaring in anger. 

"Duke Hastur," he said cooly, and his sword ignited again. 

"Prince, actually," the demon corrected proudly, smirking, "I've been promoted."

"Turns out that bringing in the slipperiest, lowliest demon for punishment can get you a pretty good commendation. Isn't that right, Ligur?"

"Yeah. Plus extra points for beating the shit out of that creep beforehand," Ligur snickered as he entered the room. 

Aziraphale fumed. How dare they talk about Crowley like that? He ought to smite them on the spot. Still, he had to remain calm. He could deal with them later. His priority was Crowley. 

"I'm sure you could babble on about your achievements, but I have a schedule to keep. I'd really be disappointed if I'd have to do to you what I did to that overgrown fly," he told the two demons, pointing to the very large pile of ash with his lit sword. 

Hastur and Ligur's confidence dwindled slightly upon seeing what became of their colleague. 

"Take me to the Abyss. Now," Aziraphale ordered, calibrating himself into an offensive position. 

Hastur snorted, and regarding the angel with a mixture of apprehension and mockery. 

"As much as I'd love not to turn to….. _that_ , I'm afraid your effort is just a tad, well, futile," he replied. 

"Yeah. No demon has ever come out of there, Angel," Ligur added harshly. 

"Well," Aziraphale sniffed importantly, "it's a good thing I'm not a demon."

He took a step closer, just enough to make the two demons afraid for their safety. 

"Your loss, Angel. There's nothing I want more than to see you drown in there," Ligur shrugged. 

"Think we'd get promoted to kings if we managed to get an angel into the Abyss?" Hastur asked his companion. 

Ligur licked his lips in anticipation. 

Aziraphale twisted his sword in his hand, and turned to the demons. 

"Well, then I suppose you ought to take me there as fast as you can," he said. 

Ligur and Hastur glared at him, but complied. They may pretend to be fearless demons, but deep down they had feelings. And that feeling was this: they really didn't want to be turned to ash. 

"Oh, and Ligur," Aziraphale hissed as they walked down the corridor. 

"My _name_ is Aziraphale. Don't you ever call me 'angel' again."

~~~~

"Well, this is the Abyss," Hastur announced as the three stood at the edge of an endless pit. 

"A long way down," Ligur whistled. 

There was no echo. Aziraphale grimaced, and a twinge of doubt passed over him. 

"Right," he cleared his throat. 

"I'll be going then."

He looked at the two demons, who had wisely chosen to stand a few metres from the edge. Because the Abyss acted very similar to a blackhole, its negative energy pulled anything that got to close inside. The angel took a few steps backwards, his sword still glowing fiercely against the darkness. He leaned back, and let himself be sucked in. 

Hastur and Ligur looked at each other unbelievingly. 

"Idiot angel actually did it," Hastur whispered. 

Ligur grinned. 

"Angels these days. So naive and self-righteous. He actually thinks he'll make it out of there" he chuckled. 

"What about his wings?" Hastur wondered. 

"Did you really think it was necessary to remove Crawley's wings?" Ligur snickered.

"The Abyss is inescapable. We're just gloriously cruel."

Hastur threw his back and laughed despicably. 

~~~

In the Abyss, Aziraphale was falling. He could feel the darkness try to tear him apart, piece by piece. The angel unfurled his wings, wrapping them around himself to keep the murky depths from claiming him. 

"You won't take me!" he shouted. 

His words were swallowed by the Abyss. 

He poured all his energy in the sword, as it burned brighter and brighter, yet barely making a dent in the heavy shroud of darkness. The antimatter pulled at his consciousness, tugging at his very essence. The first memory it caught was the last memory he had of Crowley. 

_"We'll keep in touch. Okay?" Crowley asked hopefully._

_Aziraphale ignored him, his eye having caught on a brown book on the backseat._

_"What's this?" he wondered aloud._

_Crowley inspected the book._

_"A book?" he shrugged, "not mine."_

_Aziraphale opened the book, not registering his friend's answer. The book was old and yellowed, looking to have been well-used. Given it's probable age, however, it was in remarkable condition._

_"It must have belonged to the young lady," he remarked as he flipped through the pages._

_"We ought to have got her address."_

_Crowley tensed, and looked around awkwardly._

_"Look, I'm in enough trouble as it is, I don't want it to get about that I go around returning people's property to them," he said apologetically._

_If he heard him, Aziraphale made no expression to acknowledge it. He had reached the title page. In bold lettering, there it was: 'The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter'.'_

_His breath escaped him for a brief moment._

_Crowley said something, but he hardly heard him._

_"Yes, yes, certainly," he mumbled, reaching for his keys as he clutched the book to his chest._

_He dropped the keys, and hastily picked them up. They dropped again, and he snatched them back up. He turned to the door._

_"We'll be in touch then, shall we?" Crowley asked._

_Aziraphale stopped, having suddenly lost his train of thought._

_"What?" he said incoherently._

_"Oh. Yes. Fine. Jolly good."_

"No," Aziraphale breathed, holding on to the memory. 

"If I had just-" 

He felt a great emptiness form inside. The memory began to slip from his mind's fingers. 

"No!" he screamed, grasping onto the memory. 

His brain exploded with pressure as his metaphysical self battled the corrosive darkness. His halo, his golden crown, burst out from the celestial plane. Rays of holy light shot forth from his crown, piercing the impenetrable void. The darkness pushed back, fighting to claim the persistent angel. Aziraphale strained, calling upon every last bit of resolve he had left. Tears of exhaustion and anger and despair streamed down his cheeks. His wings beat desperately, as he struggled against the faceless threat. 

And then-

It all stopped. He stopped falling, he stopped fighting. The darkness pulsated steadily against his corporation. He was floating alone in the endless expanse of nothingness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning for blood

"Crowley?" he called out meekly. 

He blinked, and looked around. 

It was like he was floating in space. Hundreds of tiny sparkling lights flickered in the distance like stars. They must be all the unfortunate victims of the Abyss. There were so many of them, and he had no idea how he would find his friend. 

He held out his sword like a torch. All of them looked the same. 

"Crowley?" he repeated. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and reached out with his extra-corporal senses. As an angel, he could only sense positive emotions, but the negative energy was so great that even he could sense it. Hate, Fear, Anger, Frustration flooded his consciousnesses, radiating from all those who had fallen into the Abyss. He trembled as all the malice threatened to suffocate him.

Then, there was a spark of something else. It was faint, but it was there: _love._

He gasped. There was only one occult being he knew who was capable of emanating such an emotion. The Bentley, his plants, spy films, Earth- Aziraphale had seen how the demon cared The angel focused on the love, letting it act as a beacon. Out of the darkness, a small red light drifted towards him. When it finally reached Aziraphale, the angel's heart swelled. 

The glowing orb was tiny, no larger than his palm, but it was Crowley. It blazed with a fire only Crowley could possess.  
Gently, reverently, the angel's hands circled his friend's Essence.

"Oh, my dearest," he breathed, holding the Essence to his chest. 

"I promise I'll restore you."

He opened his wings, which now flapped with renewed energy. Aziraphale looked up, and flew. 

If falling was difficult, climbing was impossibly tedious. The Abyss would not give up so easily. Invisible, intangible tendrils pulled him down, but Aziraphale pushed back. He was so close to bringing back Crowley, and he wasn't going to let the darkness drag him away. Further, further he climbed, beating his wings desperately. He grunted, exerting all his energy to push forward. Crowley's Essence burned in his palm, and Aziraphale gripped it harder. A new air overtook him, and, overcome with an inexplicable force, he climbed higher and higher until he burst out of the Abyss. 

A crowd of demons had gathered around the entrance, likely having been told of what happened by Hastur and Ligur. With a blast of righteous might, Aziraphale barreled through the horde, hardly even in control anymore. He was aflame, moving with a spirit he had never known he had. Demons of every rank and position scattered before him, and the angel didn't stop until he had charged out of the ground, up and out of Hell. Beneath him, all of Hell was locked in fear and shock. 

~~~~

The flames died down as Aziraphale gathered his bearings. He was back on Earth, kneeling tiredly on the frozen ground. Breathing heavily, he looked down. He was no longer holding Crowley's Essence, but Crowley himself. Or, rather, he was holding Crowley's body. Grey and bloodied, there was no sign of life on his friend. Aziraphale had returned Crowley to how he was before he fell into the Abyss, but he was already on the brink of extinction beforehand. Blood pooled out the wounds on his back and chest, and his face was bruised. His eyes were wide open, but there was no life behind them.

Aziraphale trembled, cradling Crowley close. As bad as it looked on his corporation, Aziraphale could see that it was so much worse on his true form. At least in the Abyss, Crowley was neither dead nor alive. Now, Aziraphale realized in heartbroken horror, Crowley was dead. Not discorporated. Dead. 

The world fell silent, as an angel bowed his head. 

"This is all my fault," he sobbed, laying Crowley down onto the grass. 

"I'm so sorry." 

He couldn't bear seeing Crowley look so brutalized. With a shaking hand, he touched Crowley's head, which was caked with blood. Aziraphale willed the blood and gashes away, and the grotesque stab wounds closed up. With another wave of his hand, he repaired Crowley's suit. The blood stains disappeared, and the rips and slashed fabric was repaired. 

Now that he was all cleaned up, it almost looked as if Crowley was sleeping. Aziraphale's voice caught in his throat, and he wrapped his arms around himself. Before he didn't know whether or not Crowley was alive, and now he knew. The knowledge tore him apart.

He looked up at the sky. The moon had moved across the horizon, and the sky was beginning to lighten in preparation for sunrise. 

"I know I'm not the best angel," he said as he gazed at the Heavens.

"But…..please, please, please," he pleaded, praying with all his might.

"Please heal him."

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. He hadn't expected one, but his desperation made him try. 

His sword was still slightly glowing, and it seemed to call to him. Morosely, he picked it up, pensively studying it. He had never given much thought about his sword. After all, he did give it away, and hadn't seen it in almost six thousand years. He squinted, having noticed something he hadn't noticed before. There was a word engraved in very small letters on the blade: "אמת".

"Truth?" Aziraphale read, perplexed.

"Why would my sword say-"

_"I can't see what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil, anyway."_  
_"Then you can't be certain, correct me if I'm wrong, you can't be certain that thwarting it isn't part of the divine plan too."_  
_"Well, that's just it, isn't it? They're doing it themselves. It's what they really want to do. I just assisted them. Think of it as a microcosm of the universe. Free will for everyone. Ineffable, right?"_

Aziraphale froze, and looked at his friend's still body. Crowley was the Serpent of Eden, Crowley gave humans knowledge. _Crowley made people yearn for the Truth._

He suddenly remembered about a Rabbi he had met in Medieval Prague. What was his name? Loew? 

Aziraphale laid down next to Crowley, and gripped his ice-cold hand. The sword was still in his other hand. The angel shut his eyes, and squeezed the sword with all his might. 

Power surged from the white-hot sword, coursing through Aziraphale and into the demon like an electric circuit. Aziraphale's body felt like it was freezing and burning at the same time as celestial energy flowed through his veins. And then, almost as soon as it began, the powerful force stopped.  
Fearing what he would see, Aziraphale turned his head slowly and opened his eyes in Crowley's direction. 

The demon looked exactly the same, except-

His chest heaved, and Crowley breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rabbi Judah Loew was a Medieval Rabbi in Prague who wrote commentaries on Jewish Law. According to legend, he also saved the Jews of Prague from pogroms by creating a Golem- a clay creature brought to life by the word 'אמת' on its forehead.


	13. Chapter 13

Aziraphale let out a cry of relief, and scrambled to his feet, kneeling above his friend. Some colour had returned to the demon's eyes. 

"Crowley!" he exclaimed joyfully, cupping the demon's face. 

Crowley made no move to respond, seemingly still unconscious. But he had a pulse, and he was breathing. He was alive. Aziraphale sobbed and smiled and hugged him, so thankful that he had his friend back. 

"Oh, my dearest," he murmured, placing his hand on Crowley's chest. 

He could feel his beloved's heartbeat, and that was enough. 

"I'm sure you're exhausted. So am I," Aziraphale said softly. 

The angel glanced at his sword. It looked different- cold, ordinary. He turned it over, and checked where the engraving had been. It was gone. Aziraphale tried to ignite the sword again, but nothing happened. He tried a few more times, with all the same results. It behaved just like any normal man-made sword. Very strange.

He looked back at Crowley, whose chest was rising and falling steadily with life. As he watched his friend sleep peacefully, he understood. 

"Never needed this sword, anyway," he smiled, and dropped it onto the ground. 

Aziraphale walked over to Crowley, and gently picked him up off the hard grass. Crowley made a small sound as he was moved, but didn't wake up. It was incredibly adorable, in Aziraphale's opinion, although he knew Crowley would not want to hear that. He chuckled softly as he thought of how Crowley would react. 

~~~~

"I'd take you to your own flat, Crowley," Aziraphale said regrettably as he walked into his flat above the bookshop, "but I'm afraid it's rather….well, I'm sure you'll be more comfortable here."

He laid Crowley on his bed, glad that his friend didn't have any actual shoes to take off. Crowley was sleeping so soundly that he didn't want to disturb him by removing his jacket. Aziraphale was becoming himself quite exhausted, as well. Opening a gate to Hell, killing a demon prince, diving in a metaphysical blackhole and escaping, not to mention bringing a dead friend back to life does a lot to drain one angel's energy. 

He took one last look at his friend, and then left the room to change into his nightshirt. Crowley was small enough that he didn't take up much space on Aziraphale's bed. When he was ready to turn in for the night, Aziraphale slowly climbed under the covers and rolled closer to where Crowley was lying on top of the duvet. Crowley never slept with any blankets. 

"Goodnight, my dear boy," Aziraphale yawned, and draped his arm on Crowley's lithe form.

With his friend's heart beating against his arm, Aziraphale, who hardly ever slept, fell into a deep sleep. It had been a long day, after all. 

Morning came far sooner than Aziraphale expected, and still Crowley had not woken up. But, Crowley did once sleep through a century, so it wasn't that surprising. Aziraphale sipped his morning coffee as he watched the demon slumber. He wondered when his friend would awake, and secretly hoped it wouldn't be a century.

Crowley whimpered, and Aziraphale rushed to his side. His friend thrashed in his sleep, causing Aziraphale to worry. 

The demon woke up with a start, a high-pitched wail piercing the morning silence. 

"Azzzziraphalllle!!!!" he cried, and began clawing at the air. 

"Aziraphale, where are you?" 

One of his hands hit the angel, who dropped his mug in surprise. The mug clattered to the floor, shattering. Crowley flinched, and recoiled. He curled up on himself, and began crying.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly. 

He reached out to lay a gentle hand on Crowley's shoulder. The demon shuddered under his touch. 

"Oh, it's alright, my dear. I have you now," Aziraphale said quietly. 

He whispered soothing words until Crowley had calmed down.   
Crowley rolled over, and stared at Aziraphale with wide, yellow eyes. Aziraphale shifted under his scrutinizing gaze. 

"Crowley?" 

A pale, thin arm reached out to the angel, and Aziraphale took it.

"I'm here, Crowley," he told him, holding his hand. 

Crowley sat up slowly, a pained look on his face. He scooted closer, and studied the gentle figure in front of him. 

"I'm not in Hell," he croaked, as if he didn't trust his own words. 

"No," Aziraphale confirmed, squeezing his hand. 

"What about Armageddon?" 

Aziraphale sighed fondly. Of course Crowley would think about the humans first.

"My dear boy, that was two years ago," he answered carefully. 

"Did it- did it go ahead?"

"No, my dear. The world is still standing," he assured him. 

"That's good," Crowley replied weakly. 

The angel took a deep breath. 

"Can I get you anything?" Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley looked up in confusion. He didn't seem to quite be all that aware. 

"No, um, I- " he stopped desperately, grasping for words. 

Aziraphale tried a different method, trying not to stress him out. 

"What do you want, Crowley?" 

The demon frowned, as if the question confused him. 

"I don't-" he stammered.

The angel softened, and pulled Crowley closer. 

"Ssh. Don't fret, my dear," he soothed. 

"I should go," Crowley mumbled. 

"Where?" 

The demon didn't reply, and looked away. 

"Crowley, you can stay as long as you like," Aziraphale told him. 

"I can't!" Crowley snapped, standing up on shaky legs. 

He walked to the door, fumbling with the handle in his frustration. Aziraphale came up behind him in an effort to convince him to stay. 

"Anthony J Crowley," he said sharply, grabbing him from the back.

Crowley swerved around, his face painted with an expression Aziraphale couldn't quite place. It was a mixture of pain, anger, and fear. The demon opened his mouth to say something, then clamped it shut. He pushed out through the door, and ran out of the flat and downstairs. Aziraphale ran after him, but Crowley had gone. 

"But- " Aziraphale cried, standing outside his shop.

Crowley was nowhere to be seen. 

"I just got you back"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you thought it was over?


	14. Chapter 14

“I thought I’d find you here,” Aziraphale said softly as he sat next to Crowley on the bench. 

Crowley was sitting stoically, watching the people and ducks pass. His skinny arms were wrapped around himself, and his breath came out in frozen puffs. He didn’t respond to the angel. 

“I’m sure this must be quite confusing for you,” Aziraphale continued, taking out a packet of breadcrumbs and holding it out. 

“Would you like to feed the ducks?” he asked. 

Crowley finally looked at him blankly, and Aziraphale realized he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.  
His yellow eyes were wide and fearful and unblinking. 

“Ducks?” he repeated slowly. 

“We used to always feed the ducks here,” Aziraphale explained, “whenever we had business to discuss, or just to enjoy each other’s company. It’s why you came here, isn’t it?”

“I-” Crowley began, struggling to find the words.

“I don’t know why I came here,” he admitted. 

Aziraphale frowned sympathetically. 

“Instinct, perhaps?” he suggested helpfully. 

Crowley sighed weakly.

“Nothing makes sense,” he muttered. 

“It’s like I’m dreaming, or living someone else’s life.”

Aziraphale reached out to touch him, then pulled back, remembering the demon’s adverse reaction earlier. 

“Well, what do you know about yourself?” he asked gently. 

Crowley’s face twisted in concentration. 

“My name is Crowley,” he finally answered, “I’m a demon.”

Aziraphale nodded encouragingly. 

“What about me?” he asked. 

The demon looked at him for a long time, long enough for Aziraphale to feel just a tad uncomfortable. 

“You’re Aziraphale,” Crowley responded. 

“You’re an angel.”

The angel smiled hopefully. 

“That’s right, my dear boy. So what doesn’t make sense?”

Crowley grimaced, and Aziraphale feared he had pushed him too far. 

“It just- I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right. This isn’t me. I shouldn’t be here,” Crowley tried explaining, but he himself didn't quite understand. 

Aziraphale thought hard about how he could help. Slowly, an idea began to formulate.

“Crowley, my dear, why don’t you come with me?” he offered.

“I have something that might help.”

~~~~

“Follow me,” Aziraphale instructed as he took Crowley around the side of the bookshop. 

Crowley stood hesitantly, unmoving. He surveyed the area anxiously, as if looking for any threat. 

“Oh, it’s only me, my dear,” Aziraphale assured him, returning to the jittery demon. 

He held out his hand, and smiled at him. Crowley swallowed nervously, and took the angel’s open hand. 

“My dearest, I would never let anything hurt you,” Aziraphale promised, gripping the demon’s cold hand. 

He led Crowley to where the old black 1926 Bentley was parked by the shop. Aziraphale had brought the well-loved vintage car back to the shop two years ago, when it became evident that Crowley wasn’t coming back on his own. Since then, Aziraphale had carefully tended to it, just as he had seen Crowley do. He polished its exterior, made sure the tyres had enough air in them, and regularly checked the engine. If he put on a minor miracle to repel the birds, well, that was his own business. 

“Remember this?” he asked expectantly, showing off the pristine vehicle. 

“It’s a Bentley,” Crowley said dully. 

Aziraphale blinked at his emotionless response, then willed himself to continue. 

“It’s _your_ Bentley, my dear,” he pressed, taking Crowley closer to see the full expanse of the car. 

Crowley cocked his head, and knelt by the car door, inspecting it. 

“It’s not mine,” he mumbled, running his fingers along one of the wheels. 

“Of course it’s yours, Crowley,” Aziraphale insisted, “it’s been yours from new.”

“No it hasn’t!” Crowley cried, scrambling to his feet. 

“This isn’t right,” he hissed, “I shouldn’t be here.”

A few passersby stopped at Crowley’s loud outburst, and Aziraphale was acutely aware that people were watching. 

“Why don’t we go inside?” Aziraphale suggested tactfully, taking Crowley by the hand and steering him towards the shop door. 

“This is all wrong,” Crowley muttered as Aziraphale brought him inside. 

“Ssh, my dear. I think some rest will do you some good,” he hushed, closing the door behind them. 

He led Crowley to the couch in the backroom, gently forcing him to sit down. 

“I’m going to make some tea,” he told him, “would you like some, or shall I make cocoa instead?”

Crowley just stared at him, and Aziraphale felt utterly helpless. 

“I’ll make tea, then,” he said as brightly as he could.

He brought back a tray of tea and biscuits, and set it down on the coffee table. Crowley, who used to always dive for the iced biscuits, just sat there, barely acknowledging that Aziraphale reentered the room. Aziraphale sighed sadly. 

“Crowley, dear,” he prodded, handing him his steaming cup of tea. 

Crowley took it hesitantly, and when his fingers touched the hot ceramic, he flinched, and the cup fell to the floor. Scalding tea spilled all over Crowley’s lap, causing him to shriek in pain. Aziraphale jumped to where Crowley was sat, and grabbed his hands. 

“It’s alright, darling,” he said softly, in an attempt to calm the distressed demon. 

“Let’s just take these trousers off, there’s a good chap,” he murmured, pulling at Crowley’s waistband. 

He was just barely able to get the trousers off, having to fend off Crowley’s flailing claws. Unfortunately, the removal of the drenched clothing did nothing to quell Crowley’s wails.

Exasperated, Aziraphale pulled Crowley towards him, and squeezed him, trying to give him enough pressure to pacify him. Crowley resisted, hissing and flicking his tongue defensively. 

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale pleaded. 

Nothing was working, and he was becoming more and more exhausted. Crowley would never in his right mind try to hurt him. 

“You know I’d only do this if I didn’t have a choice,” he sighed, and pressed a firm kiss onto Crowley’s forehead. 

The demon immediately fell asleep, and slumped onto Aziraphale. 

“Sleep well, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered, laying Crowley down on the couch, and tucking a throw blanket around him. 

Aziraphale exhaled tiredly, and his eyes brimmed with tears. He told himself that Crowley was alive, and that he should be grateful for that, but it was difficult. _Crowley_ was difficult. 

“I’ll go clean this mess up,” he mumbled to himself as he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What??? Bringing a demon back to life has consequences???


	15. Chapter 15

Aziraphale returned to the backroom with the hand broom and dustpan. A cold chill passed over him as he entered the room, and he looked up to see a dark figure towering over Crowley's sleeping form. Panic set in almost immediately. 

"You shall _not_ take him!" Aziraphale announced boldly, striding up to the robed figure. 

"RELAX, PRINCIPALITY. I'M NOT HERE FOR HIM," Death assured him, holding his hands up to show his innocence. 

Aziraphale ignored him, and knelt by Crowley, checking to make sure he was still breathing. When he had found a pulse, he turned to Death, glaring. 

"Then what, pray, are you doing in my shop?" he demanded, standing up to face him. 

"AN ANGEL BESTS MORTALITY AND I'M NOT ALLOWED TO INVESTIGATE?" Death asked wryly. 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, still standing in front of Crowley. 

"You're not going to have him, Azrael," he said lowly. 

"OF COURSE NOT, PRINCIPALITY, YOU'VE MADE THAT ABUNDANTLY CLEAR WHEN YOU PULLED THAT TRICK," Death replied. 

Aziraphale pursed his lips in exasperation. 

"What do you want?" 

Death stepped closer, his breath like a creeping tendril. 

"I'VE COME TO WARN YOU, PRINCIPALITY," he boomed, and Aziraphale suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable. 

"WHILE YOUR EFFORTS TO REVIVE YOUR FRIEND ARE NOBLE, THEY ARE FUTILE, AT BEST. HE'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE, AND HE KNOWS THAT, DEEP DOWN. HE DOESN'T BELONG IN THE REALM OF THE LIVING," Death explained with harsh honesty.

"You don't know that," Aziraphale countered quietly, but deep down, he knew that Death was right. 

"I AM CREATION'S SHADOW, PRINCIPALITY. YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME," he replied firmly. 

Aziraphale clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back. 

"Regardless," he said bravely, "I defeated you. You won't have him." 

"I KNOW. BUT DESPITE YOUR PUREST INTENTIONS, YOU'RE HURTING HIM, PRINCIPALITY. HE'S A STRANGER IN HIS OWN CORPORATION. HE KNOWS HE SHOULDN'T BE HERE," Death told him simply. 

"But he belongs here," Aziraphale insisted, his lower lip wobbling. 

"HE DOES _NOT_ , PRINCIPALITY, AS MUCH AS YOU TRY TO CONVINCE YOURSELF THAT HE DOES. AND THE MORE YOU PULL HIM TO YOU, THE MORE YOU STRAIN HIS VERY BEING." 

"And if I pull too hard?" the angel asked, not really looking for an answer. 

"EVENTUALLY HE WILL BREAK, AZIRAPHALE, AND YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO BRING HIM BACK," Death answered with foreboding finality. 

"He'll die?" 

"HE WILL CEASE TO EXIST. ERASED FROM EXISTENCE, PRINCIPALITY. AS I SAID BEFORE, YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME, IT WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD. YOU HAVE CREATED AN ANOMALY, PRINCIPALITY," he replied ominously. 

Aziraphale inhaled anxiously. 

"I won't let that happen," he vowed, staring back at Death. 

"YOUR HOPE INTRIGUES ME, BUT SOMEDAY YOUR LUCK WILL RUN DRY," he responded, and put a bony hand on Aziraphale's shoulder. 

Aziraphale shudderer, and Death disappeared. 

When he was sure Death was gone, Aziraphale rushed to Crowley's side. He pressed his ear against Crowley's chest, assuring himself that the demon was still alive.

Aziraphale didn't sleep that night, so fearful he was of losing Crowley again. He didn't have a plan, he realized. Would Crowley really be better off back in the Abyss, or dead? He knew for sure that he himself wouldn't be alright. But he didn't want to be hurting his oldest friend. 

So he'd stop pulling, he resolved. He'd let Crowley acclimate gradually, without any tension. Maybe, if he was gentle enough, Crowley would choose all on his own that he belonged with the living, and with him. 

~~~~

When Crowley woke up, Aziraphale was waiting for him. 

"Did you sleep well, my dear?" he asked, brushing some hair out of his eyes. 

"Umm, yeah," Crowley grunted, sitting up. 

Aziraphale smiled softly. 

"Are you up for a bit of a drive?" 

Crowley looked up in confusion. 

"Drive?"

"Oh, don't worry, I'll be doing the driving, dear boy," Aziraphale assured him fondly. 

"I was thinking a trip to the countryside would do us a bit of good, wouldn't you say?" he suggested lightly. 

Crowley just stared ahead, giving no indication of how he felt about the idea. 

"Right," Aziraphale said, breaking the silence. 

"First things first, my dear, is to get you a change of clothes. I altered some of mine with a bit of a miracle."

He placed a neatly folded stack of clothes on Crowley's lap.

"It's not your style, I know," Aziraphale admitted, "but it's soft and comfortable."

Crowley held a bit of fabric between his fingers, and glanced at Aziraphale nervously. 

"Right, of course," he nodded, "I'll go let you change." 

When Aziraphale returned, Crowley was dressed in the clothes he had given him. He was wearing soft brown trousers and a loose blue shirt, with a comfortable knit jumper on top. Aziraphale suddenly felt very fond of the demon. 

"You look very dashing," he managed to say, smoothing out Crowley's collar. 

Crowley winced at his touch, but other than that, he didn't protest. Aziraphale wanted very much to hug him, or, even, to kiss him. But that couldn't happen, at least not in the state he was in at that point.

"Would you care for some breakfast?" he offered.

"Could I?" Crowley asked meekly. 

"Darling, you're welcome to anything here," Aziraphale replied lovingly.

"Angel?"

"Yes, dear?" 

"Can I ask you a question?" 

"Of course, my dear," Aziraphale assured him, "what is it?" 

Crowley looked down, and bit his lower lip anxiously. 

"Did you….ngk...did you brand me?" 

Aziraphale was not expecting that question, and looked at his friend with concern. 

" _Brand_ you, dear?" he repeated. 

Crowley looked away guiltily. 

"Umm, well, there's, err, well," he stammered. 

"There's a mark. On my chest," he finally said, "and I don't think I had it before."

Thousands of horrible fears were running through Aziraphale's head, but he shoved them down, electing instead to focus on the matter at hand. 

"Of course I didn't brand you, my dear," he told Crowley, "but I would like to know what you're referring to. Would you mind terribly if you showed it to me?" 

Crowley shook his head slowly, and pulled up his shirt. Right above where his heart would be, burned into his pale-grey skin, was indeed a very prominent mark. In fact, it was a word: 'מת'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want a head start on where this is going, go ahead and look up the legend of the Golem and the Maharal of Prague.


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh dear," was all Aziraphale could say. 

"Is that bad? I can't see it that well from this angle," Crowley mumbled uncomfortably as Aziraphale touched his chest. 

"Does it hurt?" Aziraphale asked as he ran his fingers along the scar tissue. 

Crowley shook his head. 

"Tingles just a bit," he replied. 

Aziraphale pulled back. 

"I'm sorry. Did it hurt when I touched it?" 

"S fine," Crowley assured him, pulling his shirt back down over his chest. 

"What does it mean?" he asked slowly. 

Aziraphale looked down, avoiding his gaze. 

"Crowley, my dear, I'm not quite sure how to tell you this," he began awkwardly. 

"You see, well, after I- well, after I rescued you from Hell, well, I- I'm afraid I was too late," he said quietly. 

Crowley's eyes widened. 

"What do you mean?" 

Aziraphale took Crowley's hand, and stroked it gently.

"You died, Crowley," he finally revealed. 

There was a long silence, and Aziraphale finally glanced at Crowley to discern his reaction. 

“What- what happened, then?” Crowley croaked. 

Aziraphale took a deep breath, and gripped Crowley’s hand like a lifeline. 

“I brought you back to life,” he answered. 

“How?”

“Do you remember my flaming sword?” 

Crowley nodded. 

“Well,” Aziraphale explained, “I transferred its life force into you. That’s probably why you have that marking.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, Aziraphale knew. Crowley’s marking was missing a letter- changing the word from ‘truth’ to ‘dead.’ But he couldn’t explain why that had happened, and he didn’t want to alarm Crowley. 

Now, Crowley was standing still, his pupils blown wide. 

“My dear?"

“What happened to your sword?” he finally asked, his voice cracking. 

“Just an ordinary sword, now, my dear. I have no use for it anymore,” Aziraphale told him. 

Crowley exhaled slowly, and sat down. 

“You gave it away,” he said hoarsely. 

“And I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again, my dear, if it was for you,” Aziraphale replied, sitting next to him. 

“I lost my wings,” Crowley muttered, looking away. 

Aziraphale gasped. He thought the Abyss was going too far, but severing Crowley’s wings? That was just outright cruelty. He already couldn’t fly, so they had no ‘need’ to remove them. Crowley had taken great pride in his iridescent wings, constantly grooming them and making sure they always shone. All demons kept their wings well-groomed, but Crowley, ever the perfectionist, kept his wings immaculate. Perhaps it was because he couldn’t fly that Crowley made his wings look magnificent. 

“Oh, my dear boy,” Aziraphale sighed, pulling Crowley closer. 

Crowley wriggled out of Aziraphale’s arms, and stood up. If he stayed any longer, he would cry, and he didn’t want to cry. 

“Didn’t you say we were going for a drive?” he asked, changing the subject. 

“Yes, but-” 

“Then let’s go,” Crowley said firmly, and that was the end of that discussion. 

~~~~

Aziraphale took a side glance at Crowley, who was curled up in the passenger’s seat of the Bentley. Crowley rarely ever let Aziraphale drive his beloved car, but even before things went pear-shaped, it did happen on occasion that the angel drove the Bentley. Of course, Crowley would always be sitting up straight in his seat, watching Aziraphale like a hawk, constantly reminding him to be gentle and ‘respect the vehicle.’ Now, Crowley was fast asleep, not caring at all how Aziraphale was driving. It wasn’t right, Aziraphale thought. A few years ago he never would have wished to hear Crowley’s incessant yapping, but now he just wanted Crowley to wake up and snap about how he was gripping the steering wheel wrong. 

The countryside was beautiful, and he knew that under normal circumstances, Crowley would be watching the scenery, pretending he wasn’t interested. He remembered fondly how they passed the town of Crawley, and Crowley just had to stop and cause some mischief. 

“‘S got my name written all ov’r it. Literally,” he had explained, as he took out his worn leather coin purse, which existed only for the sole purpose of contributing to his favourite demonic pastime. 

Aziraphale had simply rolled his eyes, and feigned disapproval as he watched Crowley glue coins to the pavement. Miraculously, the sun shone exceptionally bright that day, so that the coins gleamed on the pavement, ensuring that no pedestrian would miss them. Of course, Aziraphale had no comment to say on that phenomena, naturally. 

They finally arrived at their destination, and Aziraphale drove up the gravel drive leading to a quaint cottage. Crowley stirred as the tyres rumbled over the bumpy terrain, and by the time Aziraphale had parked the car, he was awake.

"Where are we?" Crowley asked, sniffing the air. 

"The South Downs," Aziraphale replied simply, helping him out of the car. 

"We used to holiday here while the Dowlings were away, remember?" 

Crowley nodded demurely, as if caught in a memory.

"Well, my dear, do you remember our cottage?" Aziraphale continued, leading Crowley up the pathway to the door. 

Vines had taken over the cottage's exterior, and the garden beds were covered in a thick tangle of weeds and brambles. 

"I daresay nature has staked her claim here," Aziraphale chuckled as he stepped over a twig. 

"But I'm sure it's nothing you can't handle." 

"Right," Crowley said quietly. 

Aziraphale pushed the door open, and brushed away the cobwebs that clung to his coat. 

"Come on inside, my dear. I'll get the fire started, and soon we'll be all warmed up," he said cheerfully, hanging up his coat. 

"Why did you bring me here?" Crowley asked, closing the door behind him. 

Aziraphale turned around to speak directly to him. 

"The city is far too stressful, my dear boy, for myself, but I can't imagine how taxing it must be for you," he answered gently. 

"No," Crowley shook his head, "I mean why did you bring me _here_ ?" 

He gestured to the ground, trying to convey his meaning. 

"Why did I save you?" Aziraphale clarified. 

Crowley nodded desperately. 

"Why me?" he repeated. 

Aziraphale moved closer, his heart now aching. 

"My dear," he said softly, "you must know how I feel about you." 

Crowley looked up at the taller being. 

"I heard your voice, you know," he whispered, choking up. 

"Darling?" 

"When they were cutting off my wings, I heard you. You were telling me to hold on."

Realization dawned on the angel, and something surged within him. 

"I prayed to you," he murmured, tearing up. 

"You prayed….to _me_ ?" Crowley asked incredulously. 

"And you answered," Aziraphale finished. 

"The Almighty never answered my prayers, but you-" 

He paused to wipe away a tear, and embraced Crowley, slightly lifting him up in the process. 

"You survived, Crowley, you held on, my dearest. You answered my prayers," Aziraphale sobbed, and kissed the demon's forehead. 

Crowley sniffled, and looked up at Aziraphale with adoration. 

"You love me," he breathed. 

"I do," Aziraphale replied, squeezing him tighter. 

"I want to stay," Crowley resolved, crying into Aziraphale's chest.

"I know, my dear. I promise, Crowley," Aziraphale pledged, "I won't lose you again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story is almost over now.....


	17. Chapter 17

Aziraphale turned over in bed, opening his eyes and expecting to see Crowley sleeping soundly beside him. The night before they had spent a long time talking, crying, cuddling, and eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. It was the most relief he had felt since long before the Antichrist was ever even born. Now, to his horror, the bed was empty, and panic set in. 

"Crowley?" he called out, bolting out of bed. 

No answer. The bedroom was empty. He threw on his robe, dashing out of the room. Frantically, he searched the cottage, screaming Crowley's name, but to no avail. One of the windows flew open, and a fist of cold air blew in. Aziraphale glanced outside, and realized it was snowing. His heart filled with dread, and he bolted outside, not even stopping to put on slippers. 

Snowflakes whirled around him, and his all-too human corporation shivered, both from the temperature and from fear. In the distance, he could see two figures. As he walked towards them, he made out Crowley's familiar slender frame, and-

"Get away from him!" he shouted, charging at the second figure and tackling it to the ground. 

"GET _OFF_ ME!" Death howled, pushing the angel of him. 

The force knocked Aziraphale to the ground, nearly taking his breath away. Crowley rushed to his side. 

"Aziraphale, what's you?-"

"Oh, thank goodness I came," Aziraphale exclaimed in relief as Crowley helped him to his feet. 

"YES, THANK GOODNESS YOU ATTACKED THE ANGEL OF DEATH IN YOUR PYJAMAS," Death drawled sarcastically. 

"I'M _POSITIVELY_ TERRIFIED." 

Aziraphale glared at him, and straightened his nightshirt collar.

"Maybe you should leave us alone, then," he sniffed. 

Had he eyeballs, Death would have rolled them.

"YOU ARE SORELY MISTAKEN, PRINCIPALITY. _YOU'RE_ THE ONE WHO WON'T LEAVE _ME_ ALONE." 

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, and was about to say something when Crowley stopped him. 

"He's right, angel," Crowley said tiredly. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I sort of…...well, summoned him," Crowley admitted guiltily. 

Death chuckled, but it sounded more like the rumbling of a boulder down a rocky hill. 

"What- wha- why would you do that?!" Aziraphale sputtered with a mix of concern and anger. 

"I'm tired of being stuck, angel," Crowley sighed. 

"I don't belong anywhere. It hurts, angel, I'm tired of it." 

"I thought you wanted to stay!" Aziraphale cried tearfully. 

"I do!" Crowley insisted, grabbing Aziraphale's hand. 

"But I have nowhere to stay. It's like asking me to say a word that doesn't exist. And I know you don't like it either," he continued. 

"So you want to die?!" Aziraphale yelled furiously. 

"Of course I don't, angel," Crowley said softly.

"I love you. I want to spend the rest of eternity with you." 

"Then why-"

"Aziraphale, any day I could be erased from existence. You would have no memory of me, no one would. I wouldn't be dead, Aziraphale, I just wouldn't _be_. You won't have anything left. Do you know what that means?" Crowley tried explaining frantically.

Aziraphale shuddered. 

"Imagine, angel. One day you wake up, and somethings missing, _I'm_ missing, and you have no idea."

The angel closed his eyes, just the thought of a world without Crowley being utterly terrifying. 

"I don't want to be forgotten," Crowley choked out. 

"There's only a small chance," Aziraphale tried dismissing, lying to himself. 

"Fifty percent," Crowley croaked helplessly.

"TRY NINETY EIGHT POINT NINE," Death hissed impatiently. 

Aziraphale glanced from Crowley to Death, and sighed in defeat.

"What do you want to do, then?" he asked hoarsely. 

"Remember the Tree of Life?" Crowley whispered. 

Aziraphale gulped. He had been tasked with guarding it after the whole business with, well, Crowley. But instead of guarding it, Aziraphale had given his sword to the humans, and left Eden. He had no idea what happened afterwards, and most of the time, he didn't want to think about it. 

He nodded slowly. 

"THE TREE OF LIFE STILL STANDS IN EDEN, BEYOND THE SAMBATYON RIVER," Death interjected. 

"How would _you_ know?" Aziraphale spat ruefully. 

"I RETURN THERE AT THE END OF EVERY WORK DAY, PRINCIPALITY, THAT IS, I'VE RETURNED THERE EVERY DAY SINCE CAIN MURDERED ABEL. EDEN IS THE AFTERLIFE, PRINCIPALITY," he answered simply. 

"I still don't understand-" 

"Aziraphale," Crowley said gently, "Azrael gave me a chance. It's a slim one, but it's a chance." 

"ONE MUST CROSS THE SAMBATYON TO ENTER EDEN, AND ONLY THE DEAD CAN PASS, USUALLY. HOWEVER, THERE ARE FEW FROM AMONG THE LIVING WHO HAVE MERITED ENTERING EDEN: SERACH, ELIJAH, ELISHA. IF THE DEMON DRINKS FROM THE RIVER, HE WILL NO LONGER BE CAUGHT BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. IT WILL BE DECIDED."

Tears brimmed in Aziraphale's eyes. 

"But you could die, Crowley," he sobbed. 

"But you won't lose me," Crowley murmured, bringing Aziraphale's hand to his lips.

"No matter what happens, angel, this is the only way you won't lose me."

Aziraphale smiled bravely, if not for himself but for Crowley. 

"MAKE YOUR DECISION, DEMON. I DON'T HAVE ALL THE TIME IN THE WORLD," Death interrupted, holding up a smooth ceramic flask. 

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who gripped his hand anxiously. 

"I love you," Aziraphale told him sadly. 

"I love you too, angel," Crowley sniffled, putting on his most confident face. 

Death placed the flask in Crowley's trembling hand, and faded into the wind. Crowley took Aziraphale's hand again, and took a deep, steadying breath. He brought the flask to his lips, tilted his head back, and took a long drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Sorry for the cliffhanger. One more chapter to go :)


	18. Chapter 18

Aziraphale closed his eyes, fearing the worst. He only opened them when he felt a cold hand on his face. 

"Angel, hey, it's alright," Crowley whispered soothingly, stroking his cheek. 

He slowly opened his eyes to see Crowley smiling at him, and the tears started again. 

"You're alive," he breathed in relief. 

"I am," Crowley replied. 

"Alive and immortal again. Check my aura even." 

Aziraphale reached out into the celestial realm, and sure enough, there was Crowley's aura. It was bright, as white-blue as magnesium, and it flamed like anything. 

"Oh, Crowley," he sighed, and surged forward to hug him tightly. 

"It worked." 

They stayed in each other's arms for a long time. 

"Um, angel?" Crowley finally squeaked from Aziraphale's tight embrace. 

"Yes, my love?" 

"I'm still a snake," he muttered. 

Aziraphale looked at him quizzically for a few moments before realizing.

"Oh! Let's get you inside, then," he exclaimed, ushering Crowley towards the cottage. 

"Yeah. Unless you want me to accidentally brumate," Crowley chuckled. 

~~~~

In a cozy cottage in the South Downs, right by Devil's Dyke, and a drive away from Crawley, an angel and demon were cuddling in front of a crackling fire. It was cold and snowy outside, but within the old walls, there was a great sense of warmth and contentment. 

Crowley nuzzled against Aziraphale's bare chest, seeking out heat. After all, he still couldn't produce any of his own. Aziraphale watched as Crowley curled sleepily into the crook of his arm, his pale chest rising gently with every relaxed breath. 

"Darling," he murmured, touching the mark just above Crowley's heart. 

"Yeah?"

"It doesn't say 'מת' anymore, my dear."

Crowley looked down, and raised one eyebrow lazily. 

"What'sit say then?" 

"It says 'אמת,' my love," Aziraphale replied. 

"So it does," Crowley hummed, and yawned tiredly. 

He fell into a blissful sleep, and Aziraphale followed soon after.  
Outside, the storm continued to rage on, and the world continued spinning. The universe remained inconceivably vast, and Death pushed on in his Ineffable dance with Creation. 

**Genesis 3:24**

_"......And East of the Garden of Paradise, God stationed the Cherubim and the transformed Sword of Flames to guard the way to the Tree of Life."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahoo! It finished! And I gave it a happy ending because I'm nice like that :)
> 
> Also, if you're wondering why Death is such a prominent character, let's just say his characterization is based off of Death in the novel The Book Thief, one of my favourite books.  
> In true DnD alignment, Death is the epitome of the true neutral.
> 
> Aaaand, 18 chapters because the Gematria of 18 is 'חי', which means life :)


End file.
